


the future’s unwritten, the past is a corridor

by zozo



Category: Star Trek: Discovery
Genre: F/F, Fluff, Kissing, canon whom
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-12
Updated: 2019-04-12
Packaged: 2020-01-12 09:00:13
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 956
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18443309
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zozo/pseuds/zozo
Summary: Airiam has just finished putting a Denevan pop song into the jukebox when Rebecca Nilsson walks up to her, blonde hair down, beer in hand.





	the future’s unwritten, the past is a corridor

**Author's Note:**

> Set during the denouement of 1x15.

#### Paris, Earth

“Come on, Keyla, I could make that shot with my ocular augmentations disabled.”

Detmer snorts and looks down the line of her cue with her human eye. “I don’t need augmentations to clear this table, Airiam. It’s called ‘talent.’”

Her shot is true, but the spin on the 12 ball doesn’t quite carry it into the pocket, and Joann claps a hand on her girlfriend’s shoulder. “At least you fly better than you shoot pool, hotshot.” Keyla clutches her chest in mock pain, and Airiam laughs.

They’re at a basement bar in the 8e arrondissement. The owner is a Starfleet veteran who lost two daughters—lieutenant commanders both—in the Klingon War. When Rhys and Bryce came in scouting for afterparty venues, she recognized them instantly from the news feeds, and offered them the run of the place until dawn.

There’s an antique jukebox case that’s been retrofitted with a touchscreen and a data core, and the playlist that results from everyone’s input is… eclectic, to say the least. Airiam hears late-22nd-century neo-disco fade into classical hip-hop and walks over to contribute to the mix.

Back at the pool table, Joann and Keyla are hashing out the stakes of the next game. Airiam has just finished punching in a Denevan pop song when Rebecca Nilsson walks up to her, blonde hair down, beer in hand.

“I almost didn’t recognize you,” she says to Airiam with a grin. Indeed, Airiam is looking improbably casual in a loose-fitting shirt and denims. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you out of uniform.”

“I arrived in uniform,” Airiam chuckles. “Gen sent me back to the ship to change.” Nilsson giggles at that, and looks pointedly at Airiam’s empty hands.

“Can I get you a drink?”

Airiam pauses. “I’m not really much of a drinker.”

“Oh,” Nilsson says, obviously mortified. “Of course. Shit. I’m so sorry.”

“Oh, no, no,” says Airiam, putting a reassuring hand on the other woman’s arm. “I wasn’t much of a drinker before my… augmentations, either. Just not my thing.”

Nilsson untenses, and lets out a laugh of relief. “I thought I’d really put my foot in it.”

Airiam glances down at Nilsson’s shoes, then winks at her. “Your feet seem fine to me.”

In the dim light of the bar, Airiam’s augmented eyes nevertheless pick up a flush of heat in Nilsson’s cheeks.

“I, uh, I wanted to congratulate you,” Nilsson says, “on the Medal. You kept us safe up there on the bridge, and I just. Wanted to say thanks. From all of us down in Engineering. But also from me.” She takes a nervous sip of her beer. “So thanks. And congratulations. And thanks.”

Airiam, overwhelmed, can only incline her head in acknowledgement, but that seems to be enough for Nilsson, who reaches out and touches Airiam’s arm like Airiam touched hers moments before. “ _Any_ -way,” Nilsson says, “you may not drink, but do you dance?”

#### Later

“Oof,” Rebecca says. “That might have been one more beer than I needed.”

“Are you all right?” Airiam asks, tones of concern in her modulated voice.

“I’m fine, fine, just a little woozy. Could use some fresh air. Wanna come?”

There’s an alley behind the bar, where Rebecca is extremely happy to lean against the brick and take long, deep breaths of the cool night air. Down at the other end of the alley, and thankfully downwind, Rhys and Bryce and a couple of other officers are smoking honest-to-god _cigars_ , yuck.

Light pollution in Paris isn’t as bad as it used to be; these days you can even see a handful of stars at night. Rebecca is trying to remember her Earth constellations when Airiam sidles up and leans against the wall next to her. The plasteel of her bare forearm is warm against Rebecca’s.

Rebecca turns her head, observing Airiam in profile. “You’re really beautiful” slips out of her mouth before she can stop it, and she hears servos whir as Airiam swivels her neck to meet Rebecca’s eyes.

“Me?” Airiam says. “I think you might have had more than one too many.”

“No,” Rebecca says, forcefully this time. “You’re gorgeous. And funny, and compassionate, and brilliant and… and I kind of want to kiss you?” Airiam’s eyes go wide. Rebecca licks her lips. “C-can I? Kiss you?”

“You’re drunk,” Airiam says cautiously.

Rebecca shakes her head. “I mean, yeah. But I wanted to kiss you two beers ago. Three, even.” She pouts a little. “It’s okay if you don’t want to. But, just, for the record—I like you a lot. And I wanna kiss you. Just kissing, that’s it. But that’s what I want.”

Airiam pauses, a long pause, and Rebecca is resigned to the fact that she’ll say no, but what Airiam says is, “I haven’t kissed anyone since,” and she trails off. Rebecca’s heart aches for her. She puts a hand to Airiam’s cheek and looks her in the eyes.

“You deserve… you deserve everything, Airiam. Everything you want.”

It’s Airiam who leans in then, carefully, and kisses Rebecca gently on the mouth.

Rebecca was expecting Airiam’s lips to be smooth and cool. They’re not exactly skin, but they’re warm, and soft, and feel very much alive under her own. She slides her hands around Airiam’s waist, presses their hips flush together. Airiam moans, a low digital trill, and it sends a bolt of delight through Rebecca’s stomach. She flicks her tongue teasingly against Airiam’s lower lip once before disengaging with a broad smile.

“Were you that good of a kisser before,” she asks, giddy, “or do you have augmented lips, too?”

“You’re adorable,” Airiam laughs, folding her fingers between Rebecca’s. “Let’s go find you a glass of water.”

**Author's Note:**

> Title from ["Smoke Signals" by Phoebe Bridgers](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=vAKg267JgBE).
> 
> Come join me in femslash rarepair hell—aka on Tumblr—at [discotreque](http://discotreque.tumblr.com/).


End file.
